


His Halfling

by ninjamcgarrett



Series: Fluent in You [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Beorn's House, Dreams, M/M, bagginshield, beorn - Freeform, just after the end of the first movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 18:40:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/995218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninjamcgarrett/pseuds/ninjamcgarrett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin awakes after the battle with the Pale Orc at Beorn's house. As he checks on the dwarves, he finds Bilbo having a nightmare and does his best to wake and then calm the Halfling - right before confessing his love for Bilbo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Halfling

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my goodness, the amount of hits, kudos, comments, and bookmarks on the first part of this totally blew me away! Thank you all so much! <3
> 
> So this ended up being about two thousand words longer than I originally planned. Whoops. But twelve dwarves sleeping in a big pile, guys. It's super cute. And Thorin and Bilbo falling in love.
> 
> There'll be one more part after this.
> 
> As stated in the first part, the title and series was taken from the following quote: "Loving you feels like learning a foreign language. At first it doesn’t make any sense to me and I don’t understand what I keep doing wrong. I’m flustered and I sound stupid. But the point of learning a language is that the more time you spend with it, the better you get. Being in love with you feels like learning more about you, what you like, what you don’t like. Loving you feels like being out and seeing something that reminds me of you. Love is like being fluent in you." - Madison Moore

Thorin awoke to a dark room, his heart pounding as he searched the shadows. The Pale Orc had followed him there, into his sleep, and Thorin breathed heavily, his ribs protesting from the movement. Slowly, he shifted in the large bed in Beorn’s house, moving gently until he was upright. When they had arrived at the shape shifter’s home, Beorn and Oin had tended to Thorin’s wounds and then bundled him into the bed in the private room in the house. He had been too exhausted to protest and whatever they had given him had made him too drugged to say anything. Within minutes of lying down, Thorin had been snoring away while his wounds slowly healed.

Now, he gingerly shouldered on a robe lying on the bed for him and stood, testing his balance. Finding himself to be a little unsteady but better than when he had fallen asleep, Thorin moved toward the door. His first thought was toward his company; Thorin had no idea how long he had been asleep and wanted to check on them, see to it that they were safe, comfortable, and resting. His bare feet moved over the hardwood floors and he found them a luxury compared to the uneven rock of the goblin tunnels. Thorin laid a hand on the wall to support himself as he walked and his fingers brushed over frescos that Beorn had painted of his animals in dark and luscious colors, full of light and shadows, now dark under the cover of night and the low light from the fire.

Thorin found the main room of the house – and a pile of dwarves. Beorn’s animals had laid out sleeping blankets and pads for each dwarf, but somehow, they had all migrated in their sleep to lie on top of one another. Nori and Dori were curled protectively around their youngest brother, Ori. Likewise, Dwalin and Balin slept back to back, while Bifor and Bofur were practically sprawled on top of Bombur. Gloin was using Oin’s chest as a pillow and hugging his brother’s arm in a vice-like grip, and Fili and Kili had fallen asleep face-to-face, limbs meshed together. Thorin saw the easy rhythm of all the dwarves’ breathing and smiled ruefully. When his company relaxed, they _really_ relaxed. They all looked calm and healthy, something he was forever grateful for to Gandalf.

Thorin’s brow furrowed as he studied the pile of dwarves as he counted noses, limbs, snores – anything that identified individual dwarves in the tangle – and realized that the smallest member of their company was missing. Before he could even look about, his stomach clenching in fear for the hobbit’s safety, Thorin heard a whimper behind him. He turned and found Bilbo, curled up asleep in a large armchair by the fire that had burned down to a banked flame. The Halfling had fallen asleep, it seemed, with his nose in one of the few books that Beorn owned. His feet were tucked up under his small body and he had slumped sideways, his tawny curls resting against the arm of the chair. Thorin resisted a chuckle; the Halfling did love his books. Once this quest was finished, if the library in Erebor was not in shambles, Thorin mused that he might give the hobbit a tour of it, not only to let Bilbo peruse the books, but to see the burglar’s smile. Thorin had grown attached to the way the hobbit’s mouth quirked up and his eyes would sparkle with a wry wit – something that both of them valued.

As Thorin took in the scene before him, Bilbo whimpered again. His brow was furrowed and he appeared concerned about whatever was plaguing him in his dream. Thorin sighed, figuring his dream to be due to the uncomfortable position Bilbo had fallen asleep in. He scooped up the hobbit in his arms, managing not to wake him. Suppressing a grunt of pain as the hobbit shifted against his very bruised and battered ribs, Thorin strode down the hall back to his room; there was no way Bilbo would be able to find a solitary sleeping mat among the hodgepodge of dwarves without waking them up. Thorin wasn’t opposed to sharing his bed with the Halfling for the night; he wasn’t terribly enthralled about it either. They had slept back-to-back out in the open before, but those had been the nights Thorin had been unable to sleep well.

Something about the hobbit unsettled the dwarf. Meeting and being around Bilbo Baggins had reminded Thorin very much of learning to speak the Common Tongue as a child. At first, he had been utterly confused and nonplussed; Bilbo was quirky, small, and entirely too spoiled for Thorin’s taste. As time had gone on however, Thorin had begun to see the simple elegance and tucked away beauty in Bilbo’s character, much as he had realized with the Common Tongue in his youth. Bilbo was quirky because of his Took heritage and Thorin swore that Bilbo enjoyed needling him whenever he saw fit to do so. What Bilbo lacked in size compared to the dwarves, he more than made up for in sass, wit, and striking intelligence – Thorin would never admit it aloud but Bilbo Baggins was one of the smartest people he had ever met. And at last, he had realized that Bilbo was not spoiled, but very used to having a home and stability, something that Thorin and his family and subjects had been lacking for far too long. Throughout their journey, Thorin had come to cherish and admire these things in his Halfling. Maybe one day he would fully understand the hobbit, but Thorin doubted it. He was catching on quickly to more things each day about Bilbo, but just when Thorin thought he had fully become fluent in the strange language that was Bilbo Baggins, the blasted hobbit would amaze him with something else – like defending him against the Pale Orc.

Thorin’s heart stumbled once, twice and he swore it wasn’t from the memory of Bilbo standing defiant and utterly courageous in front of Thorin’s broken body, brandishing his small sword and practically snarling in warning to the Wargs and their riders. As long as he lived, Thorin would never forget the sight.

As he tried to shut the door quietly with his foot, Bilbo twisted his arms and began to grow more agitated in his sleep. Thorin looked down, seeing the lines creased across the small hobbit’s forehead as Bilbo jerked and tensed, murmuring. Nudging the door fully closed, Thorin tried to grip Bilbo to his chest a little tighter, as if to ward away whatever was plaguing his burglar’s sleep. He quickly regretted the action as Bilbo thrashed once in his arms, balled fists striking out. Thorin realized that Bilbo must have thought he was the assailant in the dream and his mouth quirked up momentarily in a smile at the sight of Bilbo trying to fight back. Bilbo struck out once more and one fist connected solidly with Thorin’s chest, eliciting a whoosh of air escaping the dwarf’s lungs in surprise.

“Take me,” Bilbo mumbled in his sleep. “Leave him alone.”

Thorin moved quickly across the room to set Bilbo down on the bed, but as he lowered the hobbit to the bed, Bilbo let out a small cry. It was a noise borne out of helpless rage and loss and Bilbo’s face had contorted into a mask of pain.

“Thorin!” he cried, hands reaching out and now Thorin was not sure if the hobbit was awake or dreaming still.

He sat down then, still holding Bilbo and spoke softly but with strength to the hobbit.

“Halfling, wake up. You are safe. Master Baggins, it’s alright, you needn’t worry. Wake up.”

When nothing worked, Thorin grew worried and the burglar’s name slipped from his lips.

“Bilbo,” he breathed in desperation and worry. “Come back to me. Bilbo, wake up!”

The hobbit came awake with a shudder, his hands searching, as if for something steady to hold onto. One hand latched onto the neck of Thorin’s robe and the other tightly gripped Thorin’s upper arm. His breathing was ragged and fast and his eyes had a slightly wild look to them as Bilbo looked around, trying to figure out where he was now. His gaze landed on Thorin’s face and his brow furrowed, this time in surprise.

“What – ” he began to ask, but his voice croaked, hoarse from the dream.

“You were having a nightmare,” Thorin said softly, refusing to lighten his grip on Bilbo’s small body still tucked against his larger one. “A rather powerful one, it seemed.” His look darkened as he stared at Bilbo. “What was it about?”

Bilbo looked away, clearing his throat and humming, a trait Thorin had grown accustomed to, and he knew Bilbo was stalling for time and searching for the right words to cover what he truly wanted to say.

“My Halfling,” Thorin said, even more gently this time. “You once soothed my mind after a dream. Please allow me to do the same.”

Bilbo started, as if surprised that Thorin remembered the night he had referred to, and then smiled shakily.

“Erm,” he said, blowing out a breath, “it was about you.”

Thorin tried not to smile when the hobbit grumbled over Thorin raising an eyebrow in response.

“Oh?” Thorin asked, trying to keep an innocent tone to his voice. “And what was I doing in your dream?”

“Not that,” Bilbo said in exasperation and then scrambled. “Not that I’ve – dreamt about you doing that sort of thing with me – I mean, at all – oh bugger.”

A small chuckle rumbled in Thorin’s chest before he winced from the pain. Bilbo, distracted, placed a hand against one of the larger bruises that peaked out from the opening of the robe. Thorin closed his eyes, leaning into the touch; he had come to love Bilbo’s small gestures such as this, it was one of the quirks that he had first become enamored of about the hobbit. He still treasured the memory of Bilbo tracing the dark circles under his eyes that night in Rivendell. It was the night he had realized he was falling in love with Bilbo Baggins.

“Thorin,” Bilbo murmured, pulling him back to the present, grief evident in his voice. “You died. I mean, in my dream. It was – awful. I tried to defend you against the Pale Orc, but he tossed me aside, into a tree actually. That hurt a good bit. Anyway, he – he,” when Bilbo paused, Thorin opened his eyes, watching the hobbit search for the right word. “Thorin, I swear to you, I tried to save you. But he – he killed you. And I couldn’t do anything.”

The haunted look in Bilbo’s eyes said everything that his words could not and Thorin sighed. He laid his forehead against Bilbo’s, resting there, breathing in the earthy smell of the hobbit.

“Bilbo,” Thorin said after a moment. “I am alright. It was a dream. You fought valiantly tonight – erm, whenever we escaped from the goblin tunnels.”

“You’ve been asleep for a full day,” Bilbo supplied when Thorin looked at him in question. “We all have.”

One corner of Thorin’s mouth quirked up in a smile. “Thank you, my Halfling.” He noticed the spark enter Bilbo’s eyes and fully smiled then. “I am alive thanks to you, Bilbo. I thought I was hallucinating when you stood up to the Pale Orc and the Wargs. I figured that if I died then, it would be a worthy last memory. You have served this company well, Bilbo Baggins.”

“You – you called me your Halfling,” Bilbo said in shock.

Thorin exhaled, enjoying the feel of Bilbo’s hand pressing into his chest. “As I am your dwarf.”

At that revelation, Bilbo started. “What? I – but – that’s – really?”

The last word was uttered in earnest and Thorin held his gaze with Bilbo.

“Only if you wish it.”

“Thorin,” Bilbo said, his name escaping like a sigh. “Do you really mean it?”

Thorin swallowed the flutter of nerves that had sprung into existence for quite possibly the first time in his very long life. He saw the fire banked in Bilbo’s eyes that was waiting to be stoked into a roaring flame. Emboldened by the emotions he saw there, Thorin spoke.

“I am in love with you, Bilbo Baggins.”

Bilbo hummed happily, a smile forming as the flames burst into a full-fledged fire in his eyes.

“Then I am yours, Thorin Oakenshield, for I love you as well. Though you could have said it before you nearly died and gave me a bloody heart attack.”

The laughter rumbled through Thorin and soon Bilbo was laughing as well before Thorin tenderly kissing him. Thorin took his time kissing Bilbo, exploring the taste and feel of the hobbit’s mouth, grinning like a thief in the night when he nipped Bilbo’s lower lip and the Halfling emitted a low groan of approval.

And that was how they fell in love, with small touches and little glimpses. They learned the curves of one another as they had learned the language of each other’s souls. Now, they no longer felt lost, but had a home to call their own – a home in the heart of one another, in the space between breaths and sighs of “I love you” in the night. As they explored the taste and feel of being pressed together, both knew they had become fluent in another language as well – the language of being united, sharing a bond that would not easily be severed.

A long while later that night, Thorin lay on his back; he had tried to curl around Bilbo after the first round of lovemaking but they had decided against it after Thorin had yelped in pain, having momentarily forgotten his wounds. Bilbo sat astride him now, the sheets pooled around their hips as Bilbo ran his hands gently over Thorin’s injuries. He had snuck out and found the salves Oin and Beorn had used for Thorin and was reapplying them now. Thorin hummed contentedly, his hands spread across Bilbo’s thighs and a smile on his face. The dwarf’s eyes drank in the sight of his lover’s face above him, steady and serious in his task, while Thorin’s fingers traced patterns on Bilbo’s skin.

“Stop that,” Bilbo murmured with a grin. “You’re trying to distract me and I promise I am almost done.”

Thorin chuckled. “Forgive me, Bilbo.”

He surprised Bilbo then by slowly sitting up, groaning only a little at the protest from his ribs. When Bilbo gave him a reproachful stare, Thorin kissed him in appeasement. He reached up a hand to twirl a lock of Bilbo’s hair around his finger.

“Your hair is so short,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the line of Bilbo’s jaw.

“If you tell me that I have to grow it out and grow a beard now that I am with you, I will leave you.” Bilbo sniffed disapprovingly. “I may be half of a Took, but even a full Took would not grow their hair out in the fashion of the dwarves; they are not totally devoid of their sensibilities.”

Thorin chuckled and said, “Have no worries, my Halfling. I had no such thought; I merely found the difference new.” Giving a small tug, he added, “I like it.”

Bilbo sighed, leaning into Thorin’s gentle touches. “You called me it again.”

“Hmm?” Thorin voiced as his hands went to work on Bilbo’s hair now that the hobbit was distracted.

“Your Halfling. I – I like it. I’m not sure how I feel about calling you my dwarf however.”

“Oh?” Thorin said, his mind more concentrated on what his hands were doing to Bilbo’s dark golden curls.

“Well, I am the only Halfling around and for you to call me yours sets me apart, makes me sound important. There are twelve other dwarves here, so calling you my dwarf wouldn’t mean very much. I think I know what I might call you instead.”

“And what is that?” Thorin asked, his hands almost finished with their task.

“My King,” Bilbo replied.

That pulled Thorin up short. He looked at Bilbo.

“My King,” Bilbo reiterated. “Now, I know you might object because you’re not back at Erebor and you’ve been in exile so long, but I – ”

Thorin kissed him and drew back with a smile on his face.

“I like it. Feels right, if a bit early. But I do like it.”

The dwarf disentangled his hands from Bilbo’s hair and fully smiled. Bilbo realized then that Thorin had done something and his hands flew into his hair, searching out the change. When he found the small, intricate braid, he glared at Thorin.

“What did you do?”

Taking a small lock of hair of his own dark hair and Bilbo’s hands in his, Thorin began to guide the hobbit’s smaller hands.

“It is the traditional braid shared between couples who are courting and the partners create the braid in each other’s hair as a sign of commitment.”

Bilbo looked up, meeting Thorin’s gaze as the dwarf continued to guide his hands in creating the braid.

“Thorin, are you sure?”

Tying off the new braid, Thorin leaned forward, bracing a hand against his ribs, and kissed Bilbo, who still sat on his hips.

  “Yes,” he whispered against Bilbo’s lips.

Soon that night, they slept, Bilbo curled into Thorin’s side, and guarded one another in their dreams, contented and safe in the physical realm.


End file.
